Withered Rose
by QueenBtchoftheUniverse
Summary: Now that the Beast is human he has a hard time learning how to show affection. Belle does her best to smooth his rough edges, but can she teach him the proper way of how to treat a woman? Even still, does she understand the way that she wants to be treated?
1. Chapter 1

She was beautiful. The striking yellow of her dress made for a pleasant compliment to her pale skin. And now, underneath the sparkling heavens with her leaning against his chest he wanted to kiss her so bad.

He had set up a nice dinner for them (green bean casserole, her favorite), choking it down with a smile on his face so that he wouldn't upset her. He knew that Belle would never let on that his carnivorous appetite upset her, even though it clearly did. The whole purpose of their evening together was to prove to her that he wasn't as beastly as his appearance, even though he couldn't hide his lack of grace when they danced after their meal, tromping on her feet enough to make her wince slightly underneath her smile. Damn, he knew that hadn't been one of his better ideas, but he couldn't think of anything else gentlemanly enough to do.

Belle deserved way better than what he could offer her, he knew. She deserved a man with two hands, no fangs, claws, or tail that could sweep her off her feet and give her the world.

But he was far, far too selfish. He needed her warmth like a withered rose. Her soft hand in his padded palm just now rejuvenated him, feeding him life and melting the edges of his frosted universe enough to make him feel like he wasn't alone.

And he definitely wasn't alone right now, not with this wonderful woman in his arms, gazing up at him with, what were those, stars in her eyes? Unbelievable, yet there they were. He leaned down, wanting to be sure when she surprised him by rising up on her toes and meeting his lips with hers. It was amazing, the sense of warmth that suffused him so completely. The feeling grew, twisting in a tornado of light, encircling his insides so tight that he could feel every pulse of his heart.

And then, it let go.

The tension swirled around him like a breeze, lifting his hair and ruffling his shirt. He didn't dare to open his eyes to see if Belle was being affected the same way he was. If he did, the magical feeling that was filling him might leave, and then he would be left as a discarded shell that nothing wanted to inhabit because it was too narrow and pinched horribly at the sides.

"Terrance," he heard her breathe. Somewhere along the way she must have pulled back from their embrace. "Open your eyes."

When he didn't respond he felt her grab his hand and bring it to his face. At least he _thought_ it was his face. He was almost certain that the sensation he was feeling was skin on skin, and yet the only way for that to be possible would be if the spell had broken…

Trembling, he slowly opened his eyes to find Belle's doe ones looking imploringly up at him. He raised his hands and started at the sight of his furless flesh.

"My God…" He ran his hands all over, inspecting and identifying his new physique. "Belle, can you believe this?"

He looked up to find her smiling at him, somehow managing to take what he wanted to say and shoving it back down his throat into his stomach. All he could do was stare.

Her eyelids had lowered to a smolder. "C'mere," she said as she took his face between her hands.

He was not one that needed to be told twice, lowering his mouth to hers and reveling in the sensation that bubbled up between them. She was the finest wine in the world, and he wasn't going to let go of her until he had drunk his fill. He wrapped his arms around her small waist to bring her closer. If he could help it, he would make sure that nothing would ever cause them to part.

"Master, come look! The spell has been lifted, it's…oh!"

If it had been anyone other than Mrs. Potts he would have murdered them on the spot. Belle smiled at the matronly woman, probably having already forgiven her. The young woman passed out smiles like the sweetest of candies. Even though he knew full well how stupid it was, he wanted to hoard each and every one and keep them in a safe place.

"It's alright Mary, was there something you wanted to show us?"

"Oh, yes!" She perked right up and started babbling about an impromptu celebration going on in the foyer.

Belle turned to him and grabbed his hand, reassuring him with a gentle uplift of her lips. "I'm not going anywhere, Terrance. It's a party, let's have some fun." Her eyes crinkled at the corners and she smoothed his furred brow with her other hand. He preferred to be known as Beast since that was what he was, or had been. Belle thought that too derogatory though, so she always called him by his given name. If she hadn't taken to using it he would have forgotten that it even existed.

He sighed but followed her. This woman had no idea of the power she had over him. It scared him senseless, but he wouldn't trade the pressure of her hand in his for anything in the world.

As they descended the stairs the noise of the revelry hit him first. Yelling, singing, music playing and some rowdy dancing were all taking place it sounded like. This party was already wreaking havoc on his nerves; even now he could feel a headache coming on. He just wanted to go somewhere quiet and hold Belle's hand, maybe even kiss her.

She must have picked up on his nerves somehow because she squeezed his hand.

"Are you feeling well? We don't have to go if you're not up to it." Concern marred her pretty features. He didn't want to disappoint her, especially since he knew how much she enjoyed parties.

He tried to put on his best fake assurance smile, which probably looked a lot better now minus the fangs. "I'm fine, let's go and enjoy the celebration." Perhaps he sounded a bit stilted, but that wasn't unusual for him. She believed his act anyway, so down the rest of the stairs they went to meet the overjoyed servants.

…

"Master, look, I have hands now! I'm so happy that you broke the spell."

That was about the twentieth person to come and tell him how gleeful they were to finally have thumbs again.

"S'alright Chip. Glad I could be of servisss." He waved a hand sloppily. The other had a drink that despite how continually he gulped from, it was always refilled by eager hands. He found that with enough alcohol the noise was actually tolerable. "Isn' that right Belle, having fun?"

She was asleep in her chair, exhausted by all her dancing and socializing. Looking around, he could see that there weren't many party goers left. A couple of them were planted face first on the floor. Perhaps now would be the time to retire, then.

Finding that he was sober enough to stand without falling, he picked Belle up and cradled her to his chest like a newborn infant. In truth, he should have woken her but he hated to deny her anything; even a few moments of rest.

Making his way up the staircase proved to be challenging when he couldn't see straight in the first place, but to top it off there were few candles lit due to his indisposed servants. He was afraid of stumbling, even more so with the weight of his precious responsibility in his arms.

When he got to the top of the stairs he froze. If he took a left down the corridor he would reach his chamber, but if he took a right that would lead him to Belle's. Even now, just looking at her face tore at his heart strings. Of course she was beautiful, but she was more than that. She was _his_. He wanted her with him in such a fierce primal way that there was no question of to whom she belonged. His chambers were a mess with all the broken furniture and torn drapery, and he would no doubt be embarrassed when she saw the state of it come morning, but right now the possession over her was singing so hard through his veins that he couldn't part with her even if he wanted to.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: First and foremost, thank you for everyone who has taken the time to review. Your thoughts are very much appreciated. Secondly, for those of you who are concerned, I have taken some liberties with a few of the names in this fiction. I realize that the Beast's real name is Adam, Terrance is just the name that my brain supplied me with while still half asleep. Use of creative licensing: switched on! Now, back to the story.

The first thing Belle saw when she opened her eyes was the ripped canopy over her head. _Strange, did I do that? _She couldn't have had more than two glasses of wine last night, but the events of the celebration were slow in coming to her. If she concentrated though, she could remember parts. Visions of dancing, dancing with Lumiere, Cogsworth, Chip, and… Terrance. Kissing Terrance, holding his hand, supporting him. She remembered feeling so heavy, and then; blank. She must have fallen asleep at that point. Somebody had carried her to her room then. But who…

Terrance mumbled beside her, shifting so that he slung an arm over her.

That explained the second question, then.

The first one still bothered her though. Raising herself up on her elbows, she surveyed the catastrophe of the room she was in. In the center was a small round table with a glass dome over it, sheltering a now dead flower that had once been alive with magic. So this was Terrance's room, not hers.

Now why would he go taking her to his room when she had a perfectly good one? One that was empty; bereft of an occupant on the opposite side of where she slept, vacant of the clothes of another in her chest of drawers or personal cleaning items in the bathroom.

_So he wants me to…_

"Oh!" Belle blushed as the prince tightened his arm around her in his sleep.

She couldn't very well lie and say that the thought of doing that with Terrance never crossed her mind. She had thought about it a few times, but mostly she would push those thoughts away, assuming that what she wanted would happen at a far later date.

Far, _far_, later.

She took a deep breath and drug a hand through her hair. _Ewww_. If it felt this bad there was no way it could look any better. She should probably try to look her best anyway in order to please the prince. After all, that was what sex was all about, right? Pleasing your man? At least that was what she had heard from the gaudy girls around town.

Trying to move slow enough not to wake him, she returned the arm to its owner and got out of bed, leaving Terrance to curl up into a ball. He looked cold, so she pulled the blanket up around him to make up for the absence of her body heat.

Treading lightly around the debris, she made her way into the grand adjoining bathroom. The marble room was cool, nipping at her skin and making the hairs on her arms stand at attention. She turned the tap in the bath tub on, cheering at the steam that rose from it. It would have taken her ages to heat water bucket by bucket for a bath back at home. Remembering her home brought thoughts of her father to mind. She missed him so much; maybe now that the spell was broken he could come and live with them. Assuming that she would become married to the owner of the castle, of course.

Slipping out of her clothes and into the water, she sighed in contentment and poured in some fancy looking soaps and fragrances. Judging by their abundance, the prince didn't use them at all. After sniffing at the contents she determined that he would like them on her because they were pleasing to the senses. Above all else, she wanted to please him. She wanted to marry him. But what if he only wanted to love her and leave her? Should she deny him physical intimacy until their wedding night? A wife was not supposed to deny her husband, and as his perhaps future wife then maybe she shouldn't deny him.

Holding her breath, she dunked her head into the water and then rose up, working the soap in with her fingers. She wouldn't say no then. And in truth, she didn't want to. The humming through her veins was unfamiliar to her, but it spoke of an urge to do something strange and bestial, yet enjoyable. She shouldn't think about all this now, though. Bathing was often enjoyable to her; it was something special. She let her mind go blank and started humming till her thoughts were clear and her heart was high again. The slow melody rolled through her and vibrated in her chest, turning a shy transformation into words as fragile as baby birds.

"_Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling  
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side  
The summer's gone, and all the flow'rs are dying  
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide._

_But come ye back when summer's in the meadow  
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow  
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow  
Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so._

_And if you come, and all the flowers are dying  
If I am dead, as dead I well may be  
I pray you'll find the place where I am lying  
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me._

_And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me  
And all my grave will warm and sweeter be  
And you—"_

The door burst open and Terrance walked in; bare-chested and with his eyes glowing. Belle stopped her song mid-sentence, marveling at the picture he made. In all the time she had spent looking at them, she could never understand the color of his eyes. They would shift constantly from a piercing blue to a stormy one, with every shade in between. Her gaze lowered, taking in his thick frame and cords of muscles. His human form was well toned; not a bit of him could be described as lanky or lacking. Definitely not lacking…

"Belle?"

"Hmm?" Her eyes snapped back up, cheeks darkening.

"Don't stop your song, I rather liked it. Would you sing the rest for me?" The honeyed tones of his voice were inviting, reaching inside of her and settling somewhere inside her stomach.

"Uh…I…" What were the words again? She just had them a minute ago! Where had they gone?

He only raised an eyebrow at her.

If she could just remember where she left off, there it was! "_And you shall bend…"_ Her words trailed off as Terrance came and bent over her, spreading his warm breath over her ear and neck. "Keep going," he whispered. She struggled to remember, but caught back onto her thread of thought.

"… _and tell me that you love me_"

"I love you, Belle."

She gulped and finished the song until her stream of conscious was gone entirely._ "And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me."_

And there it went; gone. She said farewell to her rational thoughts, not knowing when she would get them back. Her breathing was erratic as the prince trailed his warm lips along her skin. "Does this mean…that we are going to be married?"

Idiot! Why did she always have to say the wrong things at the wrong time? Now was not the place for that question.

He only chuckled though. "Whatever you want my love, you shall have. Belle, beautiful

Belle. Come to me and be my wife."


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Hey guys, what's up? Normally I don't like to interject into stories like this, but I feel as though this one needs a little explaining. First off, yes I know that this chapter has been a long while in coming. Thank you for your patience. Just so you are aware, reviews or favorites do not make me update faster, but they do make me feel a shit ton guiltier when I'm working on actual homework. They are welcomed, don't get me wrong. I just don't want to get your hopes up either.

Secondly, I wrote this one a little different with the time jumps and everything. Let me know what you think. Does it work or doesn't it? This chapter was getting on the longish side so I decided to end it here. I know that the story can't end without them having sex, but I'm having trouble deciding how to do it (puns, haha. I love dirty jokes). Tarrant likes it rough but Belle is virginous, and the first time didn't really count all that much. What do you think she's ready for? I'm so indecisive! I need some help guys… Ok. Now that my rambling is done, enjoy the show.

…

She half ran, half stumbled through the hallways. Her tears made it hard to see, but her feet had memorized a path to the sanctuary that she liked to frequent so much.

_Don't think, don't think, you're almost there, you're almost there, you'realmostthereholdittogethergoddammitbelle._

Once over the threshold, she pulled the double doors shut behind her, slumping down in exhaustion. She drew in a large breath slowly, calming herself with the taste of books. Libraries have always had a calming effect on her, and this one was no different. The high arched windowpanes gave the room an almost cathedral like air, one of reverential ponderings. Her favorite leather couch was exactly where it always was, the sight of it doing more to sedate her than anything else. She longed to go to it, to curl up in the soft throw blanket and look from the nearby window.

Instead she wandered through the book stacks, searching the spines for something…

_She couldn't swallow down the thickness in her throat, but she could nod her head. Yes, this is what I want, she thought. This is what we want. The bed, looming and dark while the sky bled itself of life and color. _

_No._

She blinked and found a book in her hand. _The life of Indian Princess Rebecca Wolfe: a Story of Pocahontas_. Putting the book back, she forced her mind to stay at hand on the topic. She ran her fingers down the abrasive cloth of the spines, then suddenly snatched her hand back as if bitten.

_His chin dug into her shoulder, the stubbles of facial hair pricking at her skin. His body gleamed with unearthly light, he was a God of night shadows and unicorns; darkness and purity all wrapped around to fit inside of him._ _He looked at her, connecting her with this secret world of his, somewhere that they were joined and separate and floating._

_Stop this now!_

She started pulling books out frantically, desperate to fix this. Desperate to find a solution. Her eye caught on one with a deep red cover, the gold calligraphy glittering at her. She pulled it and saw the title, _Mistress to an Angel_. She tried to flip the pages, but a few were stuck together. She eased her hand in between…

_He eased his hand in between her legs…_

_Stop now!_

_He settled himself at her juncture. _

_please_

_What she felt was pain, something that she had not been expecting. She stiffened, involuntarily crying out. He froze above her and she saw some unnamed emotion cloud his eyes. _

That was when she ran.

…

He settled himself in one of the many guest bedrooms meant for visiting nobility. A different room for a different occasion.

The satin sheets were a burnt umber; gold and orange warring with each other in the threads. He pulled the down stuffed coverlet away to feel the cold cloth on his skin. He wondered what it would be like to feel them on his back and removed his shirt in order to satisfy his curiosity. As he thought, the sensation was like water. Liquid covered his body as his thoughts moved to Belle. He would make her feel like a queen in every way; it was only what she deserved. Worshipping her body would be the least that he could do for her. Just imagining her at his mercy spread warmth through his lower body.

Pushing his trousers out of the way, he used his hand in place of Belle in order to practice the way he would tend to her her. Slow and building, is what Lumiere said, with the bottom of his abdomen pushing into her pleasure center just so. He would listen for her cries of approval to know when his goal had been reached. How many times could he make her inner muscles clench around him without spilling his seed and ending it? Not long enough, he guessed. The woman could drive a man to orgasm with just the quirk of her brow.

His back arched off of the bed, hips pursuing the heat that he sought. There would be no messing it up for her this time. He would not ruin things for Belle…Belle…Belle. Her name came like his heartbeat, faster and wilder reaching the peak of almost euphoria. His hand pulsed and jumped. He was aware of every single callus imbedded in his fingers, felt them on the softest part of his body.

…

Belle hid in the shadows and watched, entranced but also slightly frightened. The violence of his act startled her somewhat, but a part of it thrilled her. Her body grew warm at the sight of him cupping himself gentle and smooth. The plane of his stomach glistened with his sweat, defining the muscles underneath. She knew that most girls were repelled by perspiration, but she sort of liked it. The musky smell was almost sweet and she felt that it added to the intimacy of knowing a person. She wanted to be there beside him, familiarizing herself with his smell.

Then his actions turned savage. The pumping motions of his arm were furious, the pressure was so strong. He used his other hand to scratch and tear at his skin leaving red weeping streaks behind. Long streams of ejaculate came pouring out of his head. He was roaring out buckets of filthy words, most of them Belle had never heard mentioned in her presence. Her eyes widened as he shredded the last of his clothing and turned to pick up a nearby chair to throw it. He caught sight of her right as he was about to throw the non-offending furniture. What was one second filled with harsh lines of fury became soft and scared the moment he saw her. Without knowing it Belle had reached her hand out as if she could help him but dropped it once their eyes met.

"Tarrant," she said his name in a soft breath. Her heart ached for him in ways that she could never explain or understand. He looked away and searched the room as if looking for a place to hide. Before he could escape she closed their distance and placed her palm on his arm. He didn't flinch or move away, but he couldn't meet her eye either.

"It wasn't your fault, you know." She didn't dare to raise her voice above a whisper for fear that he would bolt like a deer.

When he still didn't react she continued. "I read a book about…womanly things." She ducked her head to hide her blush. Why were women always afraid of showing their embarrassment? She plowed on as if talking faster would make the subject more appropriate. "What happened was natural, neither you nor I could have stopped it. Now that it is out of the way things should be easier for us."

She had at last caught his attention with what she said. His head whipped around to stare straight at her, a little gasp escaping when she noticed his eyes were rimmed red with the faintest trace of salt water in the creases. It was an absurd notion to think that men never cried if she was not there to see it. After all, little boys cried all the time. In this way Tarrant's tears made him boyish.

"I never wanted to hurt you." His voice was kitten soft.

"I know." Now that she had his gaze she never wanted to lose it. She was lost in the sea of his eyes and their indeterminable color. They were made more intense from his tears; somehow they shown with an otherworldly light. She stepped forward to embrace him and he completed the gesture by circling his arms around her. His head dipped to her height and he gave her a kiss so tender that she herself felt like shedding tears.


End file.
